Thursday 31 May 2012

Apple

Only one Cox's apple left
From the two hundred and fifty six
I took from the tree.
All wrapped in brown paper,
Placed in boxes in the attic
In October's russet eve.

Still green
Mottled red,
Uneven,
Reflecting early Summer's light.

Light streaks through my window
And slaps into the skin
Green skin
Hard and pitted.

A fruit from a withered tree
So roughly smooth
Cold
Perfectly formed
An orb of light.

Fresh meadows memories
Feet wet to the ankles
Wading through grass -
Basket heavily laden
With new, ripe fruit.

Meadow birds compete
With childrens' shrill voices
Their picnic blanket spread
Under Orchard's pregnant trees.

Crunch of teeth
Bursting forth the juicy,
Crisp flesh.
Slurping, sucking in
Gathering the flesh with your lips
Grinding the sweetness
Sour,  in your mouth.

Dull thud
Apple falls
Lands on grassy
Green Earth.

Hot Autumn days
Rotting flesh rolling
As you kick your way
Through time.

The upper side shiny
Virginal
Innocent
Carefully concealing
The deadly wasp.

Smell of fermenting flesh
Squelching underfoot
As you mourn the passing
Of another fruitless year.

Close the shutters
Lay down your apples
Conceal Spring's freshness
Within their skin.

Lie by the fireside
Eating apple pie,
Custard.
And wash it down
With gallons of cider
You kept cool in the cellar
From early last year.

Tuesday 29 May 2012

Saxaphone

You are sleek
Curvaceous
A beauty in your glinting smile.
Your gentle tones
Seduce my love
His tongue ever eager
On your ever-ready mouth,
Passionately -
At times brutally -
Caressing you.

Whilst I
Shut away in privacy
Listen to your overflowing tones
Smooth and monotonous
Ever moaning
Driving me mad.

Saturday 26 May 2012

Grandma's Best China Teaset

You sit up there in your Sunday Best
Like a family ready to venture to Church
Like a bunch of old relations
Waiting unexpectedly
At my front door
Unwelcome
Yet obliged to welcome in.

Your rims are the faded gold of a weak winter sunset
You wear dust like well-fitted hair pieces
And only bathe when Great Aunts call
Dreading their kisses from crumpled lips
Which are pursed in disapproval at your faded dress -
And as your teapot dribbles
Like an old, incontinent Uncle,
They tut like scornful peacocks
Secretly relieved
That you were handed down to me after all.

Friday 25 May 2012

Spider

The Spider weaves its magic web
Across the window of my mind
As I wait here indefinitely
For something to happen.
Spider knows no time
Or boundaries
Just keeps spinning
Like the tales you spin
Every time I ask you where you've been.
My eyes transfix
Upon the web woven there
As I watch
It becomes entangled in my hair
And I no longer have the desire to move
Or try to break away.
I am wrapped in Spider's stick web
Cocooned
No longer holding my breath
No longer breathing
Gossamer eases the pain
My heart stops.

Thursday 24 May 2012

The Feather Duster

Shocking Pink
Extrovert
Yet you hide away
When the cleaning lady calls.

When she's gone -
You creep out with me
And we party
All around the house.

You coil cobwebs
Like shimmering bathrobes
Around your tempting feathers,
You love to linger in dark places
No other eyes will see.

Sometimes -
On family days,
You pretend to be a Pirate's cutlass
Or the broomstick of a Witch.
And once,
You were a Magic Wand,
Weaving spells of dreaming spires
And fairies
That only live in Angel's dreams.

Wednesday 23 May 2012

Cecil

This quiet morning light
Shines harsh into my eyes
And wakes me from my sleep.
I know when first awake
All is well and calm
And then awareness seeps
Into my mind.

This quiet morning light
Betrays my peace
I realise the depths of my grief
For you are gone
And I burn for you.

Monday 21 May 2012

Oak Tree

You wear the field around you
Like a gown of mud
Which flows away from your gnarled knee-caps.
The hem of your gown
Is the sparkle in the stream
Which is stitched around your feet.

Your fingers reach skyward
And wave to the stars at night
Frightening the children
In their stories of witches on broomsticks.
'These are no broomsticks,' you sigh.
'It's just me waiting for new Spring garlands
To deck my old cold branches
With light green,
Bright green colours.'

My mind boggles at the thought
Of all you've seen,
All you've heard and known
As the centuries have flown -
This muddy field -
Was it once a meadow?
Or perhaps there are traces of a hamlet,
Homes now sunken into the Earth.

Did children sing in your outstretched arms -
Sit on your bony knee-caps and play,
Their chubby fingers finding Acorns
In your hair -
Trip around on the hem of your gown,
Washing their feet in the sparkle there?

Sunday 20 May 2012

That was yesterday

That was yesterday
When we were young.
We didn't know then
What it would be like now -
What being old is or could be.
We were afraid of reaching such an age.
But now -
Here we are
And not so much has changed.
We still live and still love
And feel the pain of loss.
The world moves a little faster
But we don't get left behind.
We can run as fast as you
We've learnt ways
To keep ahead of the game -
And when it's no longer important to try -
We know how to let go.

Shower Gel is another Kettle of Fish

Soap smells nice
Rose, Geranium, Vanilla,
Honey I washed the kids soap,
Honey-combed top and yellow soap.
Keeps you clean
Dries out your skin
Makes you smell.

Pump-actioned bottled soap
Cream soap
Soap on a Rope soap
Moisturising
Tantalising
Not quite cleansing soap
Coal tar scrub soap
Memories of school soap
Wash your mouth out soap.

Lying in a long soak
Fine and precious soap
Hide in the cupboard
High up on a shelf
Just to keep you all to myself.

Shower gel is another kettle of fish
Creamy and divine
Exotically named -
Asian, Chocolate, or Arabian Dream
At only forty-eight pence
I leave you all around the bath
To encourage my family to keep clean.

Friday 18 May 2012

Catchphrase poem

"Penny for your thoughts," she said
As we sat beside the lake
Holding hands in trepidation
Waiting for the storm to break.

Well, I wasn't being funny now -
Though it seemed so at the time.
"Basically, at the end of the day -
Like - everything's just fine
And dandy - so to speak, you know,"
And gazed into her eyes.
"I was just having a senior moment then
But didn't realise."

I will get this post right


the poster

Caught in the Web now out in Paperback

Finally you will be able to purchase my novel in paperback.  I hope that you enjoy this.  I am still busy working on the next one...

Tuesday 15 May 2012

Your Li'l Alice

This one's for Alice's Birthday Today:



Your Li’l Alice
Your little girl who’s twenty-one tomorrow
Roars off in her car with a glint in her eye
As you gaze back down the winding road of her life
Tears push themselves over your eyelids
And your heart swells with pride -
You recall the times, some hard, yet so easy
Like pictures flit through your mind -
The first cry, the first smile,
Those first few tottering steps -
A flash of willful temper
Eased by her laugh and her
Wet baby’s kiss -
The light in her eyes when Daddy comes home,
Chubby hands reaching towards you -
You melt at the memory.
The years have flown -
You recall her first school day,
The many school plays,
Naughty days,
Meeting with the teachers - all much the same,
Hardly easy
As your little girl makes her mark on the world -
Stubborn and brave,
Unique,
Rebellious -
Determined to fit into no-one else’s mould.
On the verge of womanhood you were there for her
Fighting her corner
Defending her from the world
Even as you watched her stumble through teen years of vodka
Spewing forth on the pavements of the City
And you nursed her through her first hangover -
Or waited with bated breath for her to come home -
She always did, as your love for her sent Guardian Angels
Wherever she went.
She sits on her pony now -
Disciplined and proud.
You wonder where the years have gone
You wonder what her tomorrow will be -
Yet knowing that your love will keep her
Firmly on her path -
Your courage embedded deep within her
Whatever the years may throw her way -
Just know she’ll never lose that part of her
That’s you.

Ode to a Leaf

Your green veins stand out against your skin
So fragile -
Your green juice within.
The wind blows hard
But you hold on tight
As your sisters flutter around you.

Raindrops nourish you,
Sunshine nurturing.
You shade me from the glare
With your beauty as I stare
Towards the sky
High
Above you clouds sit
Like wooly hats above your head.

Still you remain all the days of the summer -
Then as you grow older
Somehow your veins change to golden hue.
No longer needed to shade the sun
You fly away -
Chasing your sisters into a mulch
And nourish the Earth's new growth.

Monday 14 May 2012

Photos of Southwick Walk

After the wonderful walk on Saturday I wondered if you'd all like to see some of the pictures I took around Southwick Estate.  This is more of an experiment really as I haven't posted any photos on here before.  So hope it works
3 Men on a Bummel?
Helpful Ladies


Walking the Dog
And off we go......

Southwick Park Wall



Can't keep up with you lot!

Bluebell Woods

Oak Before Ash - in for a Splash?

Where are we on the map?

Yes, more bluebells

Bluebells and sunshine - lovely!

And even more bluebells

Uphill homewards

Trees beside the old Southwick Road

Nearly home now



Catching up on gossip - two old nursing friends.

Southwick Post Office Tea Rooms

A well-earned cuppa

The Golden Lion


Yes, there were quite a lot of Bluebells

Dead trees in the bog

The Monster on the Hill

Lots of logs
I'm not sure why some of the photos came out in the wrong order.  It should have finished with the Golden Lion Pub.  Still, it gives a feel of the day.  Now,  two days later, the weather has reverted to wintery rain.

Open Mic' Night

"Mind the step"
Said the sign
Above the whine
of the music.

"I prefer," she said sweetly,
Her words dripping
Acid drops of spite,
"Country and Western -
It's so much better'n -
Lively."

Naively -
Sitting in the flour-dredged
Smoke-filtered bar
Wondering how far
You'd come to savour
The flavour
Of Air Drums
And Pot Plant songs,
When the man on the stage
Opened his mouth and
What fell out?
No, not his soul
But only a very pink
Tongue-like raffle ticket.

I asked you why -
And your reply?
"I only came out
For the cat food."

Saturday 12 May 2012

Walking in Southwick

We had a wonderful time this morning - got up nice and early and went for a walk around Southwick Estate.  The walk was organised by our friend, Martin, and the idea was to raise money for Naomi House which is a facility for children and young people who have not long to live.  Martin and Lez raised about £200 as well as giving us all a good excuse to get out into the lovely woods around Southwick Estate.

The bluebells are still in full bloom and now the trees are a beautiful bright green, so it was a lovely sight in the woods.  After the recent rains (too much), the ground was quite wet, but the fields were lush and our walking boots kept our feet dry.

Altogether, Mark and I walked 7.5 miles in just three hours.  Not bad for me.  We also had started the morning with coffee in The Golden Lion (thanks to Jane) and finished the morning with a huge mug of tea in the village Tea Rooms (thanks to Paula) and of course, as we were starving, we sampled a cheese and onion panini whilst we were there.

Now, with aching back (a bit) and feet slightly tingling still, we're off to The Fox and Hounds for our evening meal.

Oh, and I heard the first cuckoo today - and the swallows are out in force!

I just hope that today isn't just an oasis of sunshine in the very wet spring we're having and look forward to another good day tomorrow.

Witches Knickers

Twenty-seven pairs
Of witches knickers
Hang from hedges
From the top to the bottom of the hill.

They flutter and fuss
Distract me as I pass
Casting spells on
Passing cars.
Their labels flashing
Into your consciousness -
Tesco, Asda, Somerfield or such -
The wind trying them on for size
Before it realises
Each one is too much -
Then lets it fly on its way.

Do you ever stop to wonder
About the witches who place them there
And where do they hang to dry
The rest of their clothes?
Who knows?

Friday 11 May 2012

Slag

Your throat is white
And curved like sweet lilies blooming,
Swooning, cutting
Red and ruined lines upon your face.

Important frogs
Hug softly hot -
It's your belief they always stay
And slap you in the eyeless eye.

You keep your cool
And fool no-one
Each time it seems
They say such things
As
"What a Slag she looks today."

Thursday 10 May 2012

Wheeley Bin

I quite like this one - a bit quirky though

Wheeley Bin


You may be proud
Standing upright
Your hinged lid - unhinged
Like a sit-up-and-beg dog.
You smell of last week's curry
Dressed in slimy undergarments
Black tape around your handle
To distinguish you
From your neighbour.

In you own eye
Your lid is safely padlocked against unseen
Unclean intrusions.
You smell of Vaporesse
And Chanel perfume -
Your insides polished
Like Sargeant Majors' boots.
Your name carefully painted
Gypsy style
And your front decorated
With brightly coloured flowers
Which cunningly draw the eye away
From your missing wheel.

Wednesday 9 May 2012

Asylum?

The clock bell tower looms like thunder
Every ready for escape.
Blank eyes in faces on the wander -
Hair fashioned in a pudding shape.
The faded blooms on cotton dresses
Hide memories of young girls' dreams
That somehow came to wrong fruition
Long ago, or so it seems.

Down the echoed halls I trembled
Passing doors with clanging keys
Tiptoe up to stare through windows
Catch a glimpse of tops of trees.
Walls are painted chocolate fudge-cake
Which cover up the dirty marks
From where the sad ones' hands do linger
All the way from ward to park.

Spellbound

Spellbound
The neat white blossom
peaked it's first flesh-like petals
Through the stark winter's bark
Of the Cherry tree
That you can see
If you lean out
Standing on a box
In the back bedroom of my council house.

From here - no leaves on the trees -
I can see through the windswept branches
Right across the South Down Hills.
I think how you just might,
if there were no hill,
See right across the Solent
To the Isle of Wight.

Tuesday 8 May 2012

A little bit of me

Inside sometimes
I am old and scared and shrivelled
Whilst outside
Am strong and bold and funny.

Then on other days
Inside I am clever,
mischievous and sexy
Whilst outside
I am ridiculous.

Monday 7 May 2012

Caught in the Web - Chapter Eleven

So, Ok, Ive been very lazy for the past few days and have only posted writings that have been done long ago.  And I have no excuse, just can't seem to get my head into being creative on the page.  I have nearly finished my new knitted jacket though, and have been trying to learn lines for the new play - Our Cousin Will - which the playwright - Mr. Trotter, keeps amending - to make it even better, of course, which means that I have loads of paper copies and some new lines to learn every few days or so.
So I am still being creative but in different ways.

Anyway, for those of you who are following my novel Caught in the Web, here is chapter eleven:


Chapter Eleven
'This should keep you busy.'  Mike handed Karen a worn folder stuffed with papers, some faded and brown at the edges.
'Thanks.'  She took the file from the Charge Nurse and sat down to read.  She'd hesitated to ask about Evelyn again, but Mike was happy to let her take time out to find out more about any of the patients.  The ward was quiet this morning.  Most of the patients were off the ward engaged in their various activities.  The notes were difficult to read, the ink faded and the handwriting hard to decipher.  Nevertheless, Karen was soon engrossed in Evelyn's tale which was unfolding from within the worn pages.
Evelyn's room was never completely dark.  Every time she opened her eyes there was light.  It shone through the thin curtains during the day, and from the light in the corridor at night, always forcing its way into her life.  Evelyn never opened her door to see what lay beyond the room she'd been put in.  She was vaguely aware of faces peering in at her from time to time.
She couldn't remember how long it was since the pain had stopped.  Everything in her life was completely hopeless now, but she didn't really care any more.
She wrapped herself in a blanket of numbness.
Evelyn - 1950
'Evie, you coming up the park tonight?'  Kathy was calling cross the street.
Evelyn stopped scrubbing the steps and looked up.  'I’ve got to look after Joe till six, then get the tea ready for Mum and Uncle Bob.'  She sat on the gleaming steps for a moment.  
'After tea, then,' called Kathy.  'Come on.'
'Alright then,' Evelyn agreed.  'I'll be there by seven.'
'See ya there,' Kathy waved.
Evelyn stood and admired her work.  The garden was neatly filled with flowers and shrubs, the steps up to the door the crowning glory of the facade of the little terraced house.  Her heart lifted a little at the thought of getting out for a while later.  
She carefully carried the bucket of soapy water down the alley-way to the back of the house.   Joe was in the back garden playing with his soldiers, digging miniature trenches amongst the potatoes and carrots that Uncle Bob had planted.
'You be careful with those carrots, Joe,' she called.  'Uncle Bob'll tan your hide if you ruin his veggies.'
'I'm only playing,' Joe grumbled.  'What's for tea?  I'm starving.'
'Pork chops.  I'm just getting it on now.'  She went into the scullery and began peeling potatoes.  The room was dimly lit from the window which looked out onto the communal walkway at the back of the row of houses and the wash house, complete with boiler and copper basin for heating the water for the weekly wash.  Hanging outside the door was the old tin bath which was only used on Sunday evenings when it was filled with boiling water for the family to bathe in one at a time beside the open fire in the parlour.
Evelyn busied herself in the scullery and soon the aroma of cooking filled the house.  Before long she heard the sound of the church clock at the bottom of the street chiming six.  The table in the front parlour was laid ready for their tea.  A bowl and clean towel was waiting in the scullery, a large pot of water simmered on the gas stove ready for Uncle Bob to wash off the grime from the foundry where he worked for ten hours a day. 
Evelyn quickly slipped out of the back door and called up the garden to Joe.  'Tea's ready.  And wash your hands when you come in.'
Joe was at the butler sink in the scullery, and Evelyn was stirring the gravy when the door opened again and Mum and Uncle Bob came in, laughing together over some private joke.
'Hello kids,' Mum smiled at them.  'Oh, it's nice to be home.  That smells good.'
'Hello, Mum, Uncle Bob.'  Evelyn poured hot water into the bowl waiting on the kitchen table.  'Tea's about ready.  I'll keep the chops warm while you get washed -  I just have to mash the spuds.'
'You're a good girl, Evie.'  Uncle Bob squeezed her arm.  She glowed under his praise.
'Can I go out after tea?’ she asked.  
Her mother glanced at her uncle.
'Please, Mum.  I'll do the washing up first, and put everything away.'  
'What do you think, Bob?'  Her Mother looked anxiously at him.
'Why're you asking me?  She's your daughter.'  He turned to Evelyn.   'Where are you going anyway?' 
'To the park with Kathy.  Just for a while,' Evelyn pleaded.
'I know she's my daughter,' Mum said.  'But I wouldn't go against you, Bob.  As long as she's in by dark, then?'
'Uncle Bob?' Evelyn asked.
'Go on then.  But behave yourself,' he relented.  'And make sure you're in before dark, like your mother said.'
It was past seven when Evelyn finally escaped into the summer evening air.  The sun was still shining as she walked through the gates of the park and she could see Kathy waiting for her on the swings.  There were other youngsters around, some on the see-saw and others on the roundabout, their laughter floating on the air towards her as she walked across the finely mown grass.
'There you are.'  Kathy swung herself gently, spinning around with her feet on the ground.  
Evelyn sat on the next swing feeling a lovely sense of freedom.
'Sorry.  I had to do the washing up before I could get out.  Have you been sitting here on your own all this time?'
'Susan had to go in,' Kathy said.  'I'm glad you’re here.  I was getting fed up with being the only girl and too embarrassed to walk past that lot.'  She giggled, nodding towards the group of boys who were on the roundabout performing acrobatics.  'Look at that lot of show-offs.'
Evelyn looked across the playground at the boys.
'That's Jack and Alan.  They live down Gordon Road, don't they?' she said.  'I don't know the others though.'
'That's Micky - the one in the blue shirt.  And I think the other one's called David.'  Kathy paused.  'Oh my God, they're coming over here.  Don't look.'
Evelyn could see them walking across the playground out of the corner of her eye as they tried to pretend that they were in deep conversation.
'Hello girls.'  It was Jack speaking.
'Hello Jack - Alan.'  Evelyn looked them up and down.  When her eyes reached  David’s she felt her face burning.  She flashed him her brightest smile and looked away quickly.
'What are you two up to then?'  Jack asked.
'Nothing.'  Kathy answered for them both.
'Fancy coming for a walk with us, over to the railway lines?' Jack smiled.  'Come on, we've got some fags.  We won’t be seen there.'
'I don't know.'  Evelyn was unsure.  'I have to be in by dark.'
'It's not that far.'  Kathy was obviously keen.  'Come on Evie.  It won't be dark for hours yet.'
Evelyn glanced at David and her mind was made up.  'Alright then, I'll come.'
They set off across the park, climbed over the style and were soon walking towards the bank of the railway line across the field.  Evelyn felt the swish of the long grass against her bare legs as she walked.  When they reached the other side their way was barred by a wire fence held in place by concrete posts.  
The boys were over the fence in the blink of an eye.
'Come on girls.'  Jack was holding the top wire up with one hand, his foot on the bottom one, leaving a gap for the two girls to step through.
'You should have made them climb over the top, then we could've looked up their skirts,' Micky laughed.
'Don't you be so mucky!' Kathy retorted.  'I'll tell your mother.'
'And I'll tell yours you've been on the railway bank.'
'You wouldn't!' Kathy protested.
'And smokin' fags,' he continued.
'Yeah, well, I'll tell your Dad,' Kathy snapped back.
'Oh, stop it you two.'  David grabbed Evelyn's hand and pulled her away.
They slid down the bank to the railway navvy's hut which was half hidden by bushes, and soon were crouching behind it, leaning their backs against the hot concrete wall.
'Give us a fag then,' Kathy said to Jack.
'I've only got one - we'll have to share it.'
Where d'you get it from?' Kathy asked.
'My Dad left his fags in his jacket pocket,' Jack laughed.  'I nicked one when he was out the back working in the garden.'
'He'll kill you if he catches you,' Alan said.
'He won't catch me though, will he.'  Jack held out a battered Woodbine and straightened it out before placing it between his lips.
'I bet he counts them,' Alan said.  'My Dad does.'
'Well I don't care if he does,' Jack insisted.  'Do you want some of this or not?'
'Course I do,' Alan said.  'You got a light?'
'I have.'  David produced a box out of his pocket and struck a match.
Jack leaned towards the flame and soon the cigarette was alight.  He inhaled with a flourish and leaned back against the wall  blowing the smoke out through his half open lips.
'Great,' he sighed.  He puffed again on the cigarette before passing it to Alan.  One by one they each took a lungful of smoke.
Evelyn felt her head becoming dizzy.  It wasn't the first time she'd smoked.  Everyone around here did.  She knew she'd look stupid if she was the only one who didn't.  She remembered the first time, when she'd choked and had a coughing fit.  Now she was used to it and enjoyed the floaty feeling it gave her.  She relaxed and stretched her legs out in front of her, the warmth of the wall seeping into her back. 
Alan and Micky got up and wandered off along the bank.  
'There's wild strawberries along here,' Alan called.  'We should've brought  something to put them in.'
Evelyn closed her eyes.  She could hear their voices floating on the evening air, but she was too comfortable to move.  She felt the touch of a hand on hers and opened her eyes.   David was lying close by her side.  She turned her head and looked straight into his eyes which were looking back at her.  His fingers stroked her palm.
'What are you doing?' she giggled.
'Don't you like it?' he whispered back, his lips close to her ear.
'I might.'
'Well, make your mind up.'  He paused. 'I think you do.'
'I don't even know you,' Evelyn protested.
'Well, I want to know you better.'  He snuggled into her neck.
Evelyn stopped trying to protest and turned her face to his.  His lips were gentle on hers as he kissed her.  It was the kiss of someone who had kissed before, not the usual tight-lipped kisses that boys had given her in the past.  She felt herself melting inside as the desire for him flickered into life.  The kiss went on and on, and when eventually they came up for air, Evelyn gasped for breath.  Embarrassed, she turned her head to see if Kathy and Jack were still there.
'We're going back now.'  Kathy stood, brushing the grass from her skirt.  'You coming with us?'
'Yes, I'd better be getting home.'  Evelyn said.  David pulled her up and they climbed the railway bank towards the fence where Alan and Micky were sitting.  Soon they were all walking back across the field towards the park, Evelyn and David  trailing along at the rear hand in hand
'Oh, my God!  It's your Uncle Bob!'  It was Kathy who first saw him waiting at the edge of the park, glaring towards the happy group.
Evelyn pulled her hand away from David's and grabbed hold of Kathy's arm.
'Sorry David,' she apologised.
'Can I see you again?' he asked.
'I don't know.' 
'I'll be in the park tomorrow,' David said.
'Shush.'  They had neared the style and Uncle Bob was within hearing.
A silent group climbed over as he stood aside watching each of them step onto the smooth grass of the park once again.  Evelyn looked at him, smiled tentatively and bowed her head.
'I was just coming home,' she mumbled, walking ahead of him towards the gate of the park.  Soon they reached the back door to her home once more.
Evelyn was lying in her bed.  The room was dark - she could hear the sound of her Mum snoring in the next room.
It had been a tense evening.  Uncle Bob had said nothing to her when they got in from the park.  She had felt his eyes on her, but each time she looked up he'd looked away.
She cast her mind back to the moment when David had touched her hand.  She smiled to herself in the dark, dreaming of his soft lips and the lovely smell of his Brylcremed hair which still lingered on her hands.
The creaking of her bedroom door startled her.
'Who's that?' she whispered.
The figure moved quickly to her bedside.  She recognised the silhouette of Uncle Bob as he stood beside her.
'Shush,' was his answer.  'You don't want to wake your mother, do you?'  He sat on the bed, his hand reached out to touch her hair.
'What are you doing?  What do you want?'
'You've been with that boy.'  His voice was hoarse.  'I just want to talk to you, without your mother listening in.  Tell me what he did to you.'
'Nothing,' Evelyn spluttered.  'He did nothing.  Go away.'
'Did he touch you?' he hissed.
'No.  Of course not.'  Evelyn was indignant now.  'I'm not like that.'
His hand reached towards the covers but Evelyn was held them tightly up to her neck.  He gripped her hand.
'Let me have a look.  I'll know whether he touched you or not.'
'No,' Evelyn pleaded, but he was too strong and pulled the sheet from her in one swift movement.  He clamped one hand across her mouth.
'Now don't you wake your mother,'  he breathed.  'I'll tell her I saw you behaving like a whore.'  He roughly pulled up her nightdress with his free hand.
Evelyn froze as she felt his hand between her legs, his fingers probing her.  She muffled a painful scream beneath his other hand which was still tightly held against her mouth.
'You've been at it with that boy,' he panted.  'Did you like it?'
Evelyn tried to shake her head, to deny it, but he was holding her too tight.
'I'll show you what a real man is like.'  His coarse breath was hot against her neck as he forced his way into her.  Evelyn stopped struggling, too afraid to move as he thrust into her again and again.
When it was over, he just got up and left the room as quietly as he had come in.  Evelyn lay still for a long time, the tears wet on her cheeks, until finally the light at her window told her that it was morning.

Sunday 6 May 2012

The Cobbler's Daughter


The Cobbler’s Daughter

It’s so cold and dark - the darkness competing with the cold to penetrate my very bones.  My hands are numb and cannot feel the buttons on my boots as I fumble to dress myself.  Hurry!  Hurry!  I panic as I tumble down the attic stairs trying in vain to make no noise as I fall.
I run through the welcome warmth of the vast kitchen - breathe in the aromas of delights I will never have in my belly - into the damp chill of the scullery, my domain.
‘You’re late,’ snaps Betty, the under-parlour maid.  I know she’s got it in for me.  I duck my head out of her reach but she hasn’t taken a swipe at me this time.
I quickly gather up my tools in the wooden bucket and stagger back up the stairs to the main entrance hall.  I stand for a moment and can feel the silence of the house - still in darkness - just the ticking of the grandfather clock a heartbeat of the centre of this monster I live in.  
Shaking myself into action I start the day’s work of cleaning the fireplaces and lighting the fires.  A warm feeling of anticipation of what the day may bring seeps through me.  Today is special - my half day off.  As soon as I’ve finished my work here I can take the afternoon off - just as long as I’m back by six o’clock to scrub the floors below stairs before going to bed.  Head down, I work hard at my polishing, keen to get away before three.
At last it’s time to go.  Peeling off my cap and apron I don my black bonnet and cape, slip from the kitchen and soon I’m walking down the black path that leads to the village.  As I pass the church I hear the sound of pigs squealing from the back yard of the Post Office opposite the church.  Mr. Faithful must be slaughtering again - fresh pork for sale tomorrow!
I walk on down West Street until I reach our home, a low thatched cottage with tiny dormer windows.  Through the side gate and down the garden path - I make straight for the workshop.  As I enter my father looks up from his work - a leather shoe in one hand, a hammer in the other.  The smell of leather and glue fills the air - a lovely homely smell.  His eyes light up when he sees me but I can see behind the light a troubled shadow.  We exchange greetings - I kiss him fondly on the cheek.
‘What’s the matter?’  I ask.
‘I’ve blotted me copybook with the squire,’ he replies.  ‘He came in here with a pair of boots needing mending and wanted ‘em done by Sunday afternoon.  Well, you know I never work on the Sabbath so I told him they won’t be ready until Monday.  Well he had no choice, being as his regular cobbler is in London and it would take twice as long to get ‘em there and back.  Then when he comes to collect them I told him the cost was half a crown.  He didn’t like that - said he could get ‘em done in London for two shillings.  So I says “take ‘em to London then!”
‘He went off in a foul mood at that and today I gets this letter from the agent telling me my tenancy’s terminated - with seven days notice!  After three hundred years of my family living here!  I can’t fathom it.’
I can hardly believe it either and we spend time talking in circles - trying to work out what we can do about it.  How can someone who calls himself a Christian put out a man who’s worked and lived all his life here - he who was crippled when he was a small boy working in the Squire’s wood mill.
Two hours later I begin the walk back to the House - my heart heavy.  There’s nothing to be done I know.  Father will have to move out and there’s nowhere to go.  All our family are dead but me.  Father says that at least I have a roof over my head and he’ll be alright whatever happens.  I know what that may be - the only thing left for him - take himself to the Workhouse.  There at least he’ll have food and shelter and with his skills as a cobbler he should be able to survive.
Will I ever see him again?